


Old Number 7

by KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, Godstiel - Freeform, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Spanking, angsty smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-06 01:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13400178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: Cas took over the world once, but this time he takes Dean apart instead. It hurts almost as much.It shouldn't happen like this. It shouldn't be hot. It's not, really. It's just there's something about Cas all raged up and God-like that kind of does it for Dean, even when he hates himself for it.





	Old Number 7

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ill_write_it](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ill_write_it/gifts).



> Dear I'll-write-it - I hope this is close to what you wanted. I know you wanted some dark dub-con and no trace of fluff. This isn't exactly what you asked for, but hopefully it's dark, filthy, and angsty enough to make up for it and meet your needs.

It shouldn't happen like this. It shouldn't be hot. It's not, really. It's just there's something about Cas all raged up and God-like that kind of does it for Dean, even when he hates it. There's a tiny broken part of Dean that wants this, wants someone, or something else to take control and make it good. There's also a much larger part of him that's always wanted Cas. Just not like this. Not really. But it all gets messed up on the way from his brain to his dick and here he is, on his knees, shirtless, and waiting -- with his cock so damn hard it hurts. Pressed against the denim of his jeans, even though he can still taste blood on his teeth and Castiel's eyes look cold.

Dean had always imagined that he would be the one in control, when and if it happened between him and Cas. He'd assumed he would know more than Cas. More about sex, more about life, more about desire and feelings and all that human shit. He'd forgotten how old and powerful Castiel really was and that was Dean's first and last mistake. 

He'd somehow forgotten about that time Cas roughed him up, just before the first apocalypse that wasn't. He'd forgotten the way it felt. The way he'd thought about it for months afterwards. The way he'd nearly come before Cas broke his cheekbone, then he forgot the way he still came thinking about it later. Dean Winchester was good at forgetting things he didn't like. In his line of work forgetfulness was a survival skill. Growing up with John Winchester for a dad, even more so. He had frantically forgotten what it felt like to have Castiel's hands on his collar and thigh between his legs. Forgotten the pain and pleasure burn of that Angelic fury on his skin. Dean had forgotten what Cas was, because remembering wasn't safe. All that power was a dangerous temptation to parts of Dean he would rather not have. It was safer to forget it all. Forget those parts of himself, and forget that Cas could bring them out in him so easily. Dean was good at forgetting, but Cas wasn't about to let him forget this. Not this time.

There had probably been signs that it was coming. Signs that Cas was sick of all Dean's human shit. Cas had remade himself as a God before, and Cas, like any good Winchester, wasn't very good at learning from his mistakes. This time, Cas doesn't try take over the world. He just takes Dean.

Maybe it's Dean's fault. Dean is pretty sure most things are.

He'd been flirting, more than he should have, maybe. It wasn't that Dean didn't know that Cas was in love with him. It wasn't even the fact that Dean loved him back, although that was pretty terrifying. He just knew it would all end in flames. His life always did and always would. So he didn't try anything. Not really. But he couldn't help pushing at the edge of it sometimes. A dark temptation, like pressing his tongue against an aching tooth. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help pressing at the edge of the pain. Unfortunately, it isn't just his own twisted love and lust driven pain he was pressing at. It was Cas's too. And sometimes, Dean has to forget just how powerful Cas can be.

Which is how Dean Winchester ended up on his knees, in a back alley basement in some hick town outside Toledo. It wasn't where or how he'd really thought it would happen. But it wasn't as surprising as it should have been.

Dean had said something stupid, like, "Bite me, Cas."

"Is that what you want?" Cas had said back.

Dean should have shrugged it off. But what Dean said was "Fuck off." And what Dean meant was "Fuck me." Because Cas was fucking glowing at the edges, that stupid Angelblade in his hand and all that power radiating off him and-

Apparently Cas still heard what Dean thought as much as what he said. And apparently, Cas was sick of games. Sick of almost. Because all of sudden Cas is on him, hands on Dean's jacket and so close Dean can smell his skin. So close Dean can't breathe, can't see anything but glowing angelic eyes and Castiel's lips. Cas kisses him and flies them somewhere. An abandoned barn, every protective sigil Dean and Bobby could muster, so many years before, faded on the walls.

Castiel doesn't bother with normal foreplay. He's just there - appearing in front of Dean like the avenging angel he once was. He vanishes Dean's clothes with a thought. Dean can taste the grace in the air. Cold against his naked skin. Cas is still full clothed, that damned trenchcoat fluttering in the breeze of his wings. 

Cas pins Dean to the wall with a flick of his wrist, effortless and utterly irresistible. Worse than any demon, because the bonds holding him this time feel more like love than pain. Dean can taste the air, burning in his lungs as he struggles to breath. Cas kisses Dean's throat, in a harsh mockery of affection, it's more of an attack, a direct show of power and possession. The rush of it is indescribable. Dean closes his eyes and tries to ignore how good it feels just having Cas this close. 

Put up, shut up, and try not to cry. Yet another Winchester anthem. Or in this case, maybe it's try not to come all over the angel. Castiel's hand as warm on Dean's cold skin, trailing patterns up Dean's sides and stomach but not touching him anywhere more intimate. Not yet. A haltingly cruel tease of almost-affection, touch and tension. Just this close to what Dean really wants but not quite there yet. Not quite enough.

Not that Dean is sure this is what he wants. It feels like being taken, undone in every way.

His eyes open when the weight against him is suddenly taken away.

Cas is standing there, somehow both ethereal and awkward. He tilts Dean's chin with one angel-smooth finger, forcing Dean to meet his eyes. The air in the room is too heavy, full of grace, magic and potential. Dean can't breathe, but it doesn't stop Cas.

It's the kind of kiss that's more battle than gift. Dean feels like he's fighting for his life and he's not sure if Cas is the monster or the lifeline. Castiel kisses him like a dying man making a deal with a demon, like an onslaught and a surrender. Cas approaches sex like smiting, like war, and damn him for it but Dean thinks he might like it. Hates himself just a little more because of it.

Cas drops to his knees like a stone and Dean flinches. This isn't how this is meant to go. This isn't right. Dean isn't right and Cas is still a fucking angel and-

The moment Castiel kisses Dean's cock he's over rational thought. He knows it's wrong, he doesn't want to want this, not really. But it feels so damn good. It feels like coming home. As if Castiel was made to swallow his cock, as if this hot, wet moment of glory is what it's all been building to. All those years of denial and sublimation, it's all been leading here. 

Dean closes his eyes a moment too late. Messy black hair and bright blue eyes glance up at him and rip him apart. He can taste a single tear, salt and sweat, and holy fuck that feels good.

He still can't speak, but he cries out when he comes. 

Castiel's fingers leave marks on his hips. Bruises he'll feel for days, but the shivering fear of what he's done is so much worse. Cas licks Dean's over-sensitive cock, laps at it and sucks him in again even though he's sue he can't take it. 

"Cas," Dean gasps. Cas hears his distress and pulls away, leaving his cock to cool in the night air.

"Turn around," Cas says, his voice even more gravel and sex than usual.

Dean finds that he can move again, but only enough to comply with Castiel's demands. He turns around. He's always been better at doing what he's told than he likes to admit. The wooden wall is rough under his sex flushed skin. The shame burns worse.

Cas raises his hand, Dean can feel the air move. Raises it high and swings, slap! The sharp sting of Castiel slapping him, the blood rushing to fill the palm print on his ass. He's washed in guilt, pleasure and pain singing through his skin. Then, Cas forces his ass cheeks apart. 

Dean knows what's coming next, and he knows how good it's going to feel, that just makes it worse. It's dirty-wrong-good and the worst of times, but Cas is a fucking angel. And more than that, he's Cas. He shouldn't be reduced to something so human. Something so- oh fuck yes.

Castiel's tongue, lapping, gently almost hesitant at first against the ever-sensitive flesh might be the best-worst thing he's ever felt. Cas makes it an act of worship, treats Dean's inescapable pleasure like holy desecration. Dean moans like a whore, and hates himself for it, before it's even started. It's only almost as good as it can get. Then Cas forces his wet angelic tongue into Dean's all too human body. Dean cries out, and if it wasn't impossible he would come again just from that. From Castiel's demanding take and give assault on every nerve he has.

Cas doesn't give up and he doesn't give in, but he gives Dean all he's got. He thrusts his tongue, fucking Dean open with a hard, desperate rhythm. Sometimes he curls his tongue on the way out, sends ripples of squirming lust all the way to Dean's fingertips. His toes curl and just when he's about to come apart, about to fall and shatter on nothing but an angel's spit, Cas stops.

Dean gasps, whines like the needy slut he's always been. But Cas just slaps him again, even harder this time. Leaves a red welt of tingling heat.

It's the sound of Castiel's belt that does it. Dean tries to move away, but he can't, he's trapped again by the force of Castiel's will. His cock is hard again, already, pressing into the rough wood of the wall, but desperate for the friction he doesn't care about splinters.

Cas pins him by the hip, gripping hard enough to leave another handprint scar.

When Castiel's achingly perfect cock nudges up against him, Dran bites his lip and tries not to cry. He arches his back, breathes out, long and slow, opens up his body--it still burns, still takes him by surprise how good it feels. He should fight this. He should say no, he should run and struggle and fight his way free. He should give in and give up and give himself over--but it's just too good. The rough, burning stretch, the sensation of being filled and taken. It's too much and not enough, it's too soon and too late, and oh god why now and why not then. 

Dean sobs when Cas finally, finally, slides all the way in. Cas, who has been near silent until now, grunts. As if this, of all things, causes him effort. As if Dean's body wrapped around him has some kind of impact on his almighty self. Dean pushes back, tries to get Cas deeper, or closer, or something. Tries to rip another of those fantastic, tiny sounds out of his angelic lover. 

"Cas," Dean manages to gasp, beg, demand.

And then, Cas finally moves. He finally withdraws, one wretched inch, the slides back in with a sharp snap of his hips. Dean whimpers, and that does it. That pushes Castiel over the edge of whatever was holding him back. Cas responds, violent and hard, and so fucking good. Harder, faster, deeper. 

Dean finds himself coming again, sticky and shuddering. He misses the build up because he's distracted. Because it hits him like a freight train, orgasm punched out of him like winning the fight but losing the war.

Cas fucks him through the last of it, in and out, through every shuddering dying gasp of his climax. Dean's not even sure Cas comes, but he pulls out, pulls away. He's shaking. Dean can just see him in his peripheral vision, head bowed and shadows of wings on the wall.

He's doing up his pants, not even looking at Dean. He's freed Dean from his grace made prison. Dean turns, back against the wall, still naked and covered in sweat and cum. Castiel isn't even flushed.

"Why?" Dean asks, between catching harsh and panted breaths. "Why's it always gotta be like this, Cas?"

If Dean didn't know better, he'd think Cas looks sad. But at least he looks up and looks Dean in the eye.

"I don't know. This is your Heaven, Dean," is what Cas says. "You tell me?" 


End file.
